#i think we as a fandom don't talk about this moment enough

[lastoneout]

As someone who is on a mood stabilizer(lamotrigine, in fact) what's happening to the people in these screenshots is not what happens to the average person who has hobbies and fandom-adjacent interests. My meds have never stopped me from loving with my whole chest, instead they simply give me the ability to balance my intense love of things with my real life wants and needs in a healthier way. They give me the ability to stop playing Minecraft before I give myself a migraine, or stop thinking about my OTP long enough that I can make a phone call and actually focus during it, that sort of thing. I don't stop having hyperfixations, I just am able to have one and also have a functional life too.

But these people were clearly missing something important in their lives that's place was filled by a truly unhealthy obsession(or like. had mold poisoning. that person is an outlier dw). They use the word hyperfixation but like, I don't think that's really what's going on. This isn't a bog standard hyperfixation on like Hero Academia or WWDITS, these were obsessions with real living celebrities, and fandoms for celebrities tend to take a dive into conspiratorial thinking and vague cult-y behavior REAL fast. Like, I mean, you can be a fan of a celebrity or band and be normal about it ofc, but I see the conspiratorial thinking pop up a lot more and faster in fandoms for real people. Genuinely combing over every single thing Taylor Swift has ever done or said 500 billion times to compile a dissertation on how she's been subliminally telling her fans for years now that's she's gay and attacking everyone who says otherwise because they don't get it and are just homophobes and like, fucking stalking and threatening her ex-boyfriends and spending every spare moment of every day posting about it with other people who are doing the same....that's not healthy. That's not a normal special interest or hyperfixation. That's clearly someone who is missing something crucial in their lives, be it connection with other people or stable brain chemistry or a community, and filling that hole with something similar but extremely dysfunctional shared with a community of people who are also unhealthily obsessed and thus promote and encourage unhealthy fixations and conspiratorial thinking at the expense of every single part of the rest of their lives. This is on the same level as like, someone's grandma who has always kinda been convinced Elvis' death was faked and in 2016 accidentally fell down the Q Anon rabbit hole, not someone who thinks about their blorbos holding hands before they fall asleep at night and is begging for someone to ask them about the tv show they're from so they can info-dump.

And like yeah fandoms can get you like that too, I've gotten too deep before and fallen in with conspiratorial thinking(almost always around ships tbh) and whenever I get out I feel pretty ashamed of letting that free dopamine and validation roller coaster make me act like someone I'm not, and ofc some fans will stalk and harass the people behind their favorite show or movie for ship validation or write up massive conspiracy boards about how "xyz ship is def endgame trust us see we connected the dots and we will destroy the lives of anyone who disagrees including the people who make the damn show" like I was at Phoenix Comic Con the year Andrew Hussie got mobbed(but not in the mob!! thankfully I didn't get caught up in all that!!), I know how fandoms can be, but overall what's happening in these images isn't something the average fan needs to worry about. If you aren't writing conspiracy boards about celebrities sexualities or an OTP and harassing the celebrities/creators about it, sending death threats to real people who disagree with your theory or like other ships, and spending every spare second of every day posting and talking about them to the point that you literally, physically, don't have time or energy for anything else then you don't need to worry about meds making you not like your favorite webcomic as much anymore. What these people are going through is framed through the lens of fandom, but was far closer to going to a Flat Earth Convention in terms of actual behavior and outcomes.

Your meds shouldn't make you stop liking things entirely. When I think about not liking things I genuinely loved as much as I used to I get a little sad because I miss them, when I think about getting riled up because I believed a show runner was specifically trying to spite ME I feel embarrassed, and I'm glad I stopped doing it and moved on to things that actually make me happy and aren't borderline conspiracy theories. That's the difference. These people aren't sad, they are straight up happy to be out, talking about how it's wild to look at the insane things they believed, and putting focus on how their lives are better now. They clearly don't miss these things because they've moved on. Or, in the case of the BTS person and probably the swifties, they still do like the artist or actor or band, they just aren't Obsessed(tm) with them to a truly unhealthy, world-view altering degree anymore. They can still love these artists and actors without that obsessive love taking over their entire lives.

So nah. The average fan does not need to worry about meds doing this to you. These people were outliers in unhealthy situations that improved when they got the things they were missing. That's almost certainly not what's going to happen to you.

(But also yeah even if you do find your interests changing, that's not always a bad thing. Interests change, we find new things to love all the time, it doesn't invalidate the joy we found and friendships we made to recognize that now we want to post about a different show or movie or comic. That's just how life is, we change.)

And if you don't like the way meds make you feel, you can tell your doctor and stop taking them. There are some meds out there that make me into a zombie that no longer cared about anything at all. And so I stopped taking them, told my doctor, and we worked something else out. Don't be afraid of change, but also, if it sucks hit the bricks.

[an-amber-in-the-ashes]

Keep thinking about that time when Jem threw the last of his yin fen into a fireplace and Will plunged his bare hands into the fire to save it

[queers-gambit]

Two to Tango

prompt: the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.4k+

note: author still does not want any messages about glorifying toxic relationships. typically, but not always, when someone calls you clingy, it's weaponized and is abusive. this fic is not meant to portray that! it’s meant to show internal agony and the journey to forgiveness - Carmy apologizes 'cause he's actually sorry!

warnings: cursing, reader folds 'cause who wouldn't for the sweet puppy that is Carmy, hurt and comfort, small angst, small fluff, we talk about Mikey a bit, author uses writing as therapy, relationship angst...? barely edited.

part one: God's Plan

"It's six in the Goddamn morning!" You raged at your front door, stomping up to it, "Are you dumb in the fucking head!? Who the fuck in their right mind knocks like the Goddamn cops at six in the fucking morning!?"

You whipped it open, the force causing a breeze of air to blow your bedridden hair back and highlight your exhaustion. "Hiya, sunshine," Richie beamed down at you, holding up a paper bag, offering, "donut?"

"Richie!? I know you're not fuckin' stupid, baby boy, so, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's six in the morning on my day off - do you want to give me a reason to punch you? You hate your nose that much?"

He tisked at you mockingly, "Someone's cranky this morning."

"What do you want?"

"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee? I brought us donuts! See? C'mon, Peach," He jostled the bag around with a shit-eating, closed-lip smile. "Dooonuts," he taunted.

You had to pause, count to ten in your head, then sigh through your nose. You offered kindly, "Richie? Would you like to come in for some coffee? Since you kindly brought donuts?"

He grinned, "Awwh, thanks, Peach, thats real nice of yah! Don't mind if I do!"

"Don't call me that," you snapped, leading him into your kitchen. The door shut and locked.

"Oh, someone's touchy."

"What do you fucking want?" You whined, pouring two mugs of hot coffee. "You come bangin' at my door, early ass in the mornin'. You better have a good-ass reason," you slid the mug over the counter he sat at. "Cream or sugar?"

He shook his head, fiddling with the mug for a moment before admitting as you dressed up your own coffee, "Uh, so... It's Carmy."

You paused, taking a slow sip from your mug, waiting for more that wouldn't come. So, you quietly asked, "What about Carmy?"

"He's falling apart."

"O...Kay?"

"Peach," he frowned, "you know that your relationship was the only thing that made sense to him - he's falling apart without you there."

"Okay," you nodded, taking another swallow of hot bean-water.

"That's it? Nothing else to say? Dude's losin' his fuckin' shit, Peach. Okay? Barely leaves the restaurant, h-he's all manic and shit, doesn't stop cookin', isn't gettin' a lotta sleep, and Syd said his clothes are all over the apartment - he's not keeping himself in order."

"So, he needs his mother?"

Richie glared with a clenched jaw, "Not fuckin' funny, Peach."

"I'm not laughing."

"He needs you."

"I'd argue otherwise, he's a grown fuckin' man who doesn't need to be taken care of. Look, if he was man enough to call me a desperate, clingy bitch, he's man enough to deal with the fallout of his words."

"Look, hey, hey, hey, I'm not sayin' he's not in the wrong," he waved his hands, eyes widening, "actually, the exact opposite. We all chewed his ass out when we found out what he fuckin' said, Peach. And look, I've never seen Fak that fuckin' angry."

You semi-pouted your bottom lip, "Really?"

"Fak was ready to strangle Carmy, I think," Richie sighed. "I yelled, Sugar yelled, Fak lost his shit, Syd even cornered him in the office and laid into him..."

"I thought she didn't like me," you whispered.

"She's getting to know you, but she likes you," he assured, "and it's obvious the affect you have on Carmy. We all respect that - "

"Oh, great, so everyone except the one person who needs to respect our relationship - respects it!"

Richie frowned at you, nodding in agreement before admitting, "He's a dumb fuckin' idiot, Peach, we all know that, but the dude is losing it without you."

"Sucks to suck."

"Peach," he groaned, slapping his hands to the counter with exasperation. "Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love him, but I also have this little thing called self-respect! He said some shit - shit he can't ever take back. The fuck I look like going back to him when he's the one in the wrong!? I don't hate myself that much, and despite what he says, I'm not that desperate for love."

"How is talking to the man you love - "

"Richie," you paused him, "your Cousin said a lot of hurtful shit. It's been weeks, okay? He's gonna snap outta it, realize what he's done, and right the wrongs he's committed. I don't need to speed that along in any way, shape, or form - he's a grown man. And I'm a grown woman, I don't have to fall to anyone's beck-and-call, he can figure his own shit out."

"I know - look, it's been fuckin' weeks of us dealin' with him losin' his fuckin' mind!" Richie snapped. "We tried to respect that you wanted distance and time, we really did, but he's losin' it, Peach, more than he's lost it before. Okay? I'm concerned about him, more than I was when the shit with Mikey went down..."

You sighed and leaned on your kitchen counter, wiping your fingers over your eyes to pinch the bridge of your nose after. "Okay, okay," you paused, sighing again, blinking as you looked at Richie, "so, what would you like me to do?"

He pouted dramatically, "Talk to him? Please?"

"To say... What?"

"I don't know, you guys can work that out together, but he's miserable, Peach. Just talk to him, just..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I know it's not fair to ask of you, but he's slippin' off the deep end. You're all he knows, all that makes sense to him, and with you gone..." His eyes turned red as he held back his tears, "I-I'm not sayin' he's gonna do anythin', Peach, but everythin' with Mikey's still so fresh... I just - I can't go through this again. Can't lose another Berzatto."

You frowned, understanding now why he appeared so frazzled.

"Carmy's not Mikey, Richie, okay?" You reminded him softly, reaching for his hand; leaving your extended to reach him, "And you're not gonna lose any more of us, you hear me?" You gave a squeeze, "I'll talk to him."

"Really?"

"I will," you assured softly, seeing the single tear drop from his waterline when he bowed his head and sniffled harshly. "Hey, Richie...? Do you, maybe, wanna bring some flowers to Mikey today? Think you wanna visit?"

He shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Maybe it'll be nice," you assured calmly. "It rained a few days ago, so, the ground won't be too soggy anymore, but the grass will be lush and green - hydrated and shit."

"Right," he chuckled, nodding, "yeah, okay, maybe that'll be nice, yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Carmy could use a visit, too."

"He won't go."

You nodded, "I know, but sometimes it's nice to just have the offer."

Richie agreed, downing the last of his black coffee. "All right," he cleared his throat, "let's go - you wearin' that?"

"What?"

"You gonna wear that? To go talk to Carmy?"

"It's not even seven in the morning!"

"He's at the restaurant," Richie shrugged. "Dude doesn't leave. C'mon, he needs a nap or somethin'."

You groaned, knowing he wouldn't leave unless you left with him. So, you got ready quickly while he sat at your desktop computer; playing Facebook's FarmVille - the same you left your little cousins to play when they needed distracted. He was enraptured by the adorable virtual sheep, laughing to himself as he learned the ropes of the game; and when you were ready, you had time to fill a to-go tumbler of coffee while he signed off.

When you arrived at The Beef, it was still closed for the morning prep; and inside, chaos rained in a fury of angry voices. You listened to Carmy snap at Marcus about something petty, going as far as to slap a pastry out of his hand as they argued in one another's faces with ignited passion.

"Ooookay," you moved through the kitchen and got between the two men, hands on Carmy's chest, "that's enough, Chef, hey, hey, hey, c'mon, walk away - just walk away, Carmy, don't do this. Hey, hey, don't do this, c'mon, just step off - walk away with me, please. Please, Carmy, hey, hey, step off, walk away with me, please."

"Fuck you doin' here, Peach?" He asked with red, swollen eyes. He looked sullen; pale between the angry red blotches to his skin, bags under his tired eyes, looking worn out and thinner than you remembered.

"Yeah, hey, hey, we'll talk about that, c'mon, outside, outside, outside," you directed him, sighing at the sight of the splattered pastry you were forced to step over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus," you whispered, seeing him nod and wave you off as you and Carmy pushed outside into the alley.

The door shut behind you, making Carmy snarl, "What the fuck, Peach - "

"No, I think that's better asked to you," you snapped. "The hell's wrong with you? Yellin' at Marcus like that? You know how rude it is to slap shit outta anyone's hand?"

He paced in anger, wiping a hand down his face; circling his mouth with his fingers, eyes ringed with red, hair greasy and tossed in a mess. His pants looked baggy, his shirt wrinkled, stained, and dirty with sweat marks.

"What're you doin' here?" He asked in a pant, hands going to his slender hips, head shaking as his tear-filled eyes avoided yours.

"Carmy, we need to talk."

"No shit," he breathed, scoffing after and widening his pace.

"Hey, Carmy, hey, hey," you reached for him, taking both his wrists in your grasp so he had to face you. "I need you to pause for me, please, hey," you stepped in his way when he tried to move. "Carmy, you're no good to anyone when you're like this - least of all yourself. So, I need you to talk - "

"You left," he panicked, pulling back to start pacing again. "You left - you left me. We got in a fight and you left, you fucking left. You walked away and you left me."

"Carmy, we got in more than a fight," you sighed. "You lashed out at me, then turned avoidant, and I don't linger where I'm not wanted."

"How can you think that?" He demanded, still pacing. "That you're not wanted by me? That you're not welcome, what? In my life? At my side? With me? Baby - of course, you are!"

"You didn't exactly make me feel any different," you pointed out sharply. "Carmy, can you please fucking pause for me so we can talk this out - "

"I know I fucked up," he ranted to himself, huffing and puffing as his emotion strangled him. "I know I did, I kept - I couldn't - I fucked up. I know I did. I couldn't get my head outta my ass," he listed, pacing as he panted when panic took hold of his being, "and I hurt you, and it was like I had to keep hurting you because I couldn't be alone in what I felt and I couldn't exactly figure out what the fuck I was feeling - I just needed you to hurt, too."

"Carmy," you sighed patiently.

"And I couldn't stop, I just kept going, and when I realized how bad I made it, I couldn't fucking stop - I needed y-yo-you t-to know what I felt, but I couldn't find the words. I-I hate that I did that, I-I fucking hurt you and I made this so much worse than it ever had t-to be, and I fucking know, Peach, okay? I know you're not clingy, you were just loving me. Y-You were loving me, you were using your own love languages, and I felt y-you so fuckin' close to me, and freaked out - I just - I just don't know why. I just - I panicked, I couldn't stop whatever I felt, and I'm so sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, wiping his cheeks as the tears started. "I-I-I'm so sorry, Peach, I couldn't control myself and I-I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your understanding, but I just - I couldn't stop - "

"Carmy," you stepped directly in his footpath; needing to seize hold of his swollen biceps to catch his movements as he all but barreled right into you, "I need you to breathe."

"Nah, I'm okay - "

"No, you're not," you spoke sternly, shaking your head. "Baby," you eased your tone to a softer tone, seeing a glimmer of hope spark in his baby blues, "I need you to take a breath and remain in the present with me, okay? Just stand here with me," you watched as he blinked a couple of times; reaching out to hold your waist tentatively. "And stay in the present, okay? Stay here with me."

"I'm so sorry, Peach," he whispered, stepping closer so he could feel your breasts against his chest; caging you with his arms. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't - I didn't know what the fuck I was even trying to fight with you about. You're not clingy - you're not any of the things I said, I didn't mean it - any of it."

"Calling me desperate?"

"I didn't mean any of it."

"A bitch?"

"Please," he whispered, bringing you in closer so he could rest his forehead on yours. "Don't repeat it, I know what I said, and I'm so fucking sorry for all of it. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm goin' crazy without yah, Peach. I need my best girl, and I don't deserve you, but I fuckin' need you." He sniffled, pulling back to caress your cheek, whispering, "I need you, Peach, you're the only thing that I know - the only thing I can understand, that makes sense to me. I think I just felt stressed and overwhelmed, I wasn't sure what to do - I couldn't find the words, I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, "I think we can work through this."

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not, but you have me anyway," you whispered, bringing his forehead to your own again. "But you can't do this again, taking anger out on me when I haven't done anything."

"Never again," he sighed, now nestling into your neck for comfort; arms tightening so you were the closest you could be with your head bent to keep his head caressed with yours.

"I don't think we can say 'never', but we can make an effort to leave work stress at work, right?" You whispered softly, letting one around coil around him to keep him close; the other caressing his jaw. "You don't get to treat me like that," you reminded him, "because I'm on your side, Carmy, I'm not the enemy."

"I know," he squeezed you tight.

"And the people doing their jobs are not the enemy," you smirked.

"I know," he chuckled lightly. "I owe Marcus an apology..."

"I'm sure you owe it to the others, too," you mused, holding his cheek as you turned your head to kiss his forehead. "Promise me we're done with that reactive bullshit. It doesn't make navigating a relationship easier on us."

"We're done, we're so fuckin' done with that shit," he whispered, deflating into your embrace as you held him close. "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am."

"I know," you comforted softly. "I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, this self-deprecating stunt has to end, too. We've gotta go forward with at least some confidence if we're gonna figure this out together."

He nodded, pulling back but keeping hold of your waist. "I am confident about this... About you - about us."

"Hmm?" You gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

"Move in with me - officially."

Your face contorted in mild disappointment, "Oh, Carmen - "

"No, no," he rushed, sighing as his hand flattened on your jaw and cheek again, "just listen to me. I've wanted to ask you for a long time, okay? I've wanted this for - like - fucking years. Hear me? I just," he sighed, "I wasn't sure how to ask. I want this for us, I want us to be together, okay? Officially. I-I want us living together, Peach, okay? I want to come home and just - I want you there. I want all of you," he frowned, tears swelling again, "and all your shoes in the foyer, hair in the shower drain, perfume on the counter, and every-single-way you know how to love me. I was wrong to say you were clingy - and everything else I said. Baby, the last couple weeks, I've felt so fucking empty, so lonely and - just - cold. I've been cold without you. I need you, Peach, I need you with me, and I need you to be exactly you - no holding back. Because you're exactly who I need to love me, I'm so sorry I fucked that up before."

"Carmy."

He frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I know," you smirked, "and I forgive you. But you know it's gonna take more than a few pretty words and some tears, right?"

He nodded, "Anything to make this work again."

You sighed in patience, "Go say your apologies to the others, we've got t'make a stop before going back to yours - and you're going to take a fucking nap."

"I'm fine - "

"Look me in my eye and try to tell me in the past 72 hours, you've had decent, restful sleep."

He frowned, opening his mouth a few times but then sighing. "You know I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly why we're going back to yours."

Carmy paused, brows furrowing as if a thread pulled them together. He asked softly, "Is that a no to us... Living together? Is that why you're calling it 'my' place?"

You offered him a look of patience and leaned in to peck his lips for a few prolonged seconds, promising, "There's your apartment, there's my apartment, and then there's gonna be our apartment. Somewhere that's just ours, 100% us." His mouth stretched in a grin, so you swiftly cut him off, "But you have to ask me again when you've got restful sleep under your belt. I want you clear headed when you make this kinda decision."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "Where're we goin' before?"

You swallowed nervously, telling him softly, "You absolutely do not have to go with us, but I think Richie could use a visit out to Mikey's grave. I said I'd take him with some flowers, but you do not have to get out to go with us - not if you're not ready."

He blinked a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth as his eyes dropped from yours. You were about to coo his name and assure him again, when he nodded at you and tried to half-smile. "Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll, uh... M-Maybe I can, just, hang back in the car."

"Sure, baby, whatever you're comfortable with," you whispered, leaning in to peck his forehead. "You good?"

"I will be."

"Mhm," you hummed, caressing his cheek again before pushing your hand into his curls. "Now, let's get a move on - I want you to march in there, say you're sorry to your Chefs, and then we'll leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Carmy whispered, leaning in to kiss you - but you pulled back.

"Aht," you halted him with a teasing finger to his lips, "after we've got everything worked out, then you can kiss me."

"You got t'kiss me," he mumbled against your finger; making you hum as you fought off a stretching smile, and lower your hand.

"Fair point - just one then - "

He cut you off by, indeed, pressing a single kiss to your lips, but not pulling back. His hand raised to hold the back of your head, your lips spreading in a grin against his; finding rhythm to move together before pausing to press in prolonged passion.

When he pulled back, you both paused to smile, and when you tried to peck his lips again, he pulled back, teasing, "Aht, just the one."

"Oh, fuck you," you laughed lightly, letting him take your hand before leading you back into the kitchen. The other Chefs lingered, sparing you and Carmy a few nervous glances, making you whisper in his ear as you squeezed his hand, "Go ahead, baby, get it done."

He nodded and called the kitchen to attention, clearing his throat, and beginning to make his apologies. He singled out Marcus, then Sydney, Richie, and Sugar; the kitchen staff all accepting his words and insisting he could take the day off - even the next few days if he wanted! You had to usher him to grab his things a few times, nudging him in reminder and verbally pushing him back into action. That boy's ADHD would truly be the death of him.

"So?" Richie smirked at you as Marcus handed you a packaged box of pastries.

"We're talking it out."

He chuckled, "Good. Get him outta here, Peach, dude needs to breathe."

"I got it," you swatted him away as Carmy exited the office. "But we've got somewhere to be first, right?"

He paused, then nodded and asked in a mutter, "He said okay?"

"He's got time to decide what he wants to do, but he knows we're going. C'mon, get your coat."

Richie met you at the front of the restaurant and with a parting wink to Sugar, you took Carmy's hand, tangled your fingers together, and left to venture to your parked car. Carmy got in the front, Richie in the back, and after a stop at a corner bodega to grab three bouquets of flowers, you drove to the cemetery. Carmy was silent, no music played, and Richie's leg bounced in anxious tension; making small conversation with you about your job in an effort to distract himself.

When you arrived, you pulled up on the access road that you knew was closest to Mikey's grave. Richie spared a glare between you and Carmy before muttering that he needed a cigarette and got out of the car to leave you alone. "Baby?" You whispered, reaching for his hand. "Hey, look, if you don't want to go with us, it's okay. We won't be long... But maybe you want to sign this," you showed him the small, blank name card left in the flowers.

"Why?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "So he knows they're from you."

"Peach," he sighed, meeting your eyes.

"Baby, I know it's silly, I know it's easier to ignore it all. But I'd like to believe it's just a nice gesture for our own closure - it's a signed gift from us, to them... And maybe it's nice to pretend that wherever they are, they know what we've left for them."

Carmy nodded slowly, "I-I don't think... I don't think I can go..."

"It's okay, baby," you whispered.

"But," he sniffled, opening his hand to you, "I'll sign it, if you'll leave it for me?"

"Of course," you rushed, opening your purse to producing a pen for him. The clank card rest on the center console of your car, pausing, swallowing nervously, then scribbling his name as he cleared his throat. He offered you the pen, waited until it was put away, then offered the flowers. "Hang tight, we won't be too long," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded, pecking your forehead before letting you get out of the car. You handed Richie his own flowers with a signed card, holding your own and Carmy's; linking arms with Rich to venture up the small grass hill and moved about halfway down the cemetery plot line. When you came to his stone, you understood this was what Rich needed more than you, so, you knelt and laid the two bouquets down before starting to quickly groom the area around his tombstone.

You told him, "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'll be back later for a picnic and a chat. I brought you flowers from me a-and from Carmy. He's in the car, but he's here, Mikey... Give him time," you whispered, brushing dirt from the stone before standing. "Take your time," you told Richie softly, seeing the tears gather in his eyes.

"Thanks, Peach," he whispered, offering you a tight hug. When you pulled back and started to walk away, Richie lowered himself to kneel and lay his own flowers down; hearing him tell Mikey, "Don't gotta worry 'bout us, Mike-Man, Peach is the glue that keeps us together. Shit, she even got Carmy out here..."

You made it back to the car and got in, smiling at Carmy - but dropping it the instant you saw tears in his eyes. "Talk to me," you whispered, reaching for a wet wipe in your glovebox to clean your hands after plucking the grass and brushing off dirt from the grave.

"Why can't I get out?"

You only stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say.

"I'm here... I'm finally here... Why can't I get out?"

"You're not ready," you nodded, tossing the wipe aside to a plastic bag. "It's okay, Carmy, it's okay to not be ready yet. We can come back when you are," you reached for his hand.

"I think this added to my frustration," he admitted. "I couldn't... I didn't go to the funeral, haven't been here since he was... You know."

"Laid to rest."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fuck's wrong with me?"

"You're grieving," you relented, nuzzling closer so your head rested on his shoulder. "It's not linear, Carmy, baby, just let yourself feel. When you try to repress your emotions, you lash out inappropriately."

"I know," he whispered, "'M sorry."

"It's not your fault," you promised, the two of you quietly bowing your heads together. You remained as such until Richie got back in the car, and from there, it was quiet as everyone stewed in their own emotion. You dropped Rich back at work before promising to call him later and driving away; heading for Carmy's apartment in the soothing silence, his hand locked in yours.

When you arrived at his apartment, you froze upon seeing the interior's state. "Oh, Carmy, no," you whispered, frowning deeply.

"Looks worse than it is," he deflected. You only hummed and let him lead you to the bedroom; watching him strip and prepare for bed before joining you on the mattress. He crashed almost immediately, sighing in relief as he pecked over your shoulder and collarbone, muttering, "'M so glad you're back. 'M so sorry, Peach."

"I know you are, and I forgive you," you told him softly, carding a manicured hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, baby."

He was asleep nearly instantly. He deflated on top of you, deeply resting enough to not notice you slip out from under him. You cleaned his entire apartment; doing laundry, cleaning, scrubbing, replacing necessities he deemed himself too lazy to pay attention to. You did dishes, cleaned out his fridge, and as you mopped up the floors, the sun set and Carmy emerged from the bedroom.

"Baby?" He mumbled in earnest confusion, sighing in relief when he saw you.

"What? Afraid I disappeared on you?" You teased with a small grin.

"For sure," he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes; making your amusement dim when you realized the nerve it struck. "The hell you doin'?"

"You didn't seriously think I could rest knowing this monster of a clean-up job lingered out here, did you?"

"I don't want you t'clean after me."

"Well, too late," you smirked. "You good now?"

"I feel better, yeah."

"Good."

"And I made up my mind."

"Hmm? About what?"

"I'm gonna take some time off work," he nodded, "and focus on us. Get us in a new crib, it'll be nice."

"Think you can handle that?"

He nodded, "I'll have to, you're the most important thing in my life, I can't lose you. So, if I gotta take time off, that's the least of my worries. I'm only here for us, for you."

You smiled at him, setting the mop aside to wrap him in your arms. "I like the sound of that, us making a home together - being able to decorate a new home. But don't let me overdo it, okay? I get all excited and kinda bulldoze my way through projects. I don't want you t'find real reason t'resent me."

"Nah, that ain't possible," he promised quietly.

True to his word, Carmy took three solid weeks off; agreeing to a fourth week as a contact-only consultant. You and he slept in most days, looking at apartments, and not once did he even mention work. He was diligent in his attention, focused on you and you alone; putting in overtime to rebuild that what was broke by focusing on shared interests again. You found a place you loved ready for what was basically immediate move-in, taking time to pack your respected places and prepare for the official start of your cohabitating relationship.

You didn't forget what he said, being reserved in your displays of love. Yet Carmy was different; he was totally clingy the moment you returned to his life. He feared letting you go meant you'd disappear again, feared you'd run away again. He held your hand at every possible opportunity, got you a fresh bouquet of weekly flowers, ran all his errands with you; never went to bed without you, cooked all meals with you in the kitchen - perched up on a counter. Most showers you took together, and almost every night was spent cuddling on the couch or in bed with either a book being shared between you or a new show playing on the mounted flatscreen TV.

Carmy clung because he thought if he showed you acts of his love, it'd allow comfort towards your loving behavior to flourish again - and he was right. It took a little bit of time, but Carmy clung tighter and tighter; ensuring you started to reciprocate before ever easing up in the intensity of his affectionate displays. He didn't want to overwhelm you, but knew you needed the reassurance.

You were cautious, you were apprehensive; tiptoeing around Carmy even when living together before warming back up to him. You didn't need to repeat the words he hurled at you all those weeks ago, not wanting to dredge up repressed feelings, but never letting him forget what he said. Your actions spoke enough, skittish around his affection; something Carmy took note of and despised himself for. He made up for it, of course he did, it was Carmy and he hated tension and conflict in his closest circles of life. Yet it wasn't so easy for you two to move forward, they weren't just words to you.

They were direct insults to you as a person; to you and how you loved others. Carmy had seen your deepest fear and used it as a defense against you - wanting you to hurt the way he was, too. He understood this wasn't acceptable, knowing the next time he resorted to such despicable actions, you'd simply walk away; never dealing with disrespect, so, he needed to be acutely aware of his words.

You would never allow yourself to be someone else's doormat, but part of being an adult is understanding that people were allowed to make mistakes - it's part of being fucking human. How terrible you'd feel if someone held your own mistakes against you, because the truth was, you weren't perfect either.

Part of being in a(n adult) relationship is understanding when someone apologized, it was best to accept and move on because nothing was ever solved by dragging turmoil out. This didn't mean forget what happened, forget whatever emotion was evoked - but to do your part to repair what was broken; no matter who was at fault, it always took Two to Tango.

And in this song and dance, you were ready to sweep around the dance floor if only with Carmy. Because that's what a relationship was; a conscious effort by both partners to work as one, to dance in-sync; owning the art together, as equal partners.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[v-arbellanaris]

one of my favourite parts of dai, which i don't usually speak about, is when you get to halamshiral, and they announce the inquisitor. at least half my inquisitors recruit the mages as free allies of the inquisition, and yet at halamshiral, the inquisitor is credited as vanquisher of the rebel mages, crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground. sera says 'he's so full of it! that's not how it went.' and it's vivienne who says 'remember to smile. this is all for show, my dear.'

this, amongst many moments, really encapsulates the heart of the story inquisition is trying to tell, and there's a hundred little moments that build towards this story. i have talked before on this blog about the original purpose of the inquisition, in-world, which was both to bring the mages back under chantry control and, if necessary, to recreate a loyal templar order. that is explicitly the context in which the herald is brought into as a character - that is the 'problem' they are to address, the same way the warden's narrative problem is posed as 'there is a blight that needs to be stopped' and hawke's problem is posed, interestingly in a dual-layer kind of way which is both 'i need to keep my family safe and secure' and 'how did we get to this [gestures at the aftermath of da2]?'. the narrative then goes ahead to fill in that story. and even in these stories, throughout, there are so many things building up to the narrative beats in inquisition. everything from the portrayal of the grey wardens as a heroic force in dao and how quickly the origins goes to show the wide depth of perspectives and feelings you can actually have around being conscripted and how the joining ritual - and jory's death - expose the true heart of the order's utilitarian approach, to loghain's status as the hero of river dane and his role in the rebellion and the man he actually is under that mythos, to the entire narrative of da2 being framed around this "champion" who the chantry is painting as a deliberate saboteur and conspirator (with the grey wardens) to bring the chantry and the circles down, to the ameridan reveal in jaws of hakkon, and the evanuris reveal in trespasser. there is so much story and deconstruction throughout the series of the 'chosen one' narratives - each story's protagonist has been a "chosen one" who was never really chosen, survived through chance, and shouldered responsibility for a wide variety of reasons. and their actions become legends and myths that consume any trace of who they really were. and this culminates in an extreme way in dai, because the role of the herald - which is who your pc is before they're the inquisitor - has religious significance, and in-world, andrastianism is the most dominant religion. and the religion is SO culturally pervasive, to the extent there are no governing bodies in the entirety of thedas are secular, and most are andrastian-aligned. even orzammar's belief in paragons and the stone is aligned to a religion, even if it's not andrastianism - atheism and secularism is something entirely unthinkable within a thedosian society. so of course the impact of the herald of andraste is different to the hero of ferelden or the champion of kirkwall.

but i think it's disingenous and outright insulting to insist that this was done well, or with finesse, or that the narrative tools used to convey these themes should somehow be overlooked in light of the mere presence of The Theme in the Narrative. i've spoken before on how often the writing in dai doesn't want you to think - it removes the options to argue, to present you with a statement that is The Objective Truth, as though if enough of your companions repeat the statement, it will become true. and i, myself, and plenty of people in the fandom - particularly people of colour - have been vocal about the implications around the framing of these Objective Truths, when you consider the real life analogues that these Truths are drawn from, by bioware's own admittance. that's not even touching the inherent problems with the narrative push of "imperialism is better than chaos". therefore, i cannot and do not understand responses to criticisms of dai that essentially come back around to "well, you have to understand that the dai pc is not written to be a leftist, they're written to be a centrist" - inquisition, especially, rewards conservatism specifically, as a first point. as a second point, why would having an option to have a pc with leftist or progressive views - not just progressive for thedas, but progressive according to modern values - take away from either the deconstruction of chosen one narratives or the idea of losing your identity that's pervasive throughout dragon age as a whole?

i have spoken to the blank-slate feeling to the inquisitor as a deliberate writing choice, one that people suggest is actually feeding into the themes of dai, but i argue that it's actually a deliberate writing choice so that new players come in without any opinions or experiences of the world at all, and thus become more primed to accept Objective Truths from the companions. thus, criticisms -- certainly mine are -- around the lack of options to argue with your companions stems not from wanting to be right, but from being allowed to have a different opinion. how does having a different opinion to what's publicly acceptable, or desirable, actually not enhance the themes of identity loss in dai?

yes, you cannot decide that your warden does not become a warden - but you live through the experience of becoming a warden, to show why it's necessary. you are allowed to have complicated opinions about being a warden, and act based on those opinions. yes, you cannot choose to not play as hawke, but you can choose exactly what kind of hawke you want to play - someone pro-templar, or pro-mage, or someone who starts out at one end and comes out of it the other end, someone who values family or money or status and prestige, someone who is funny or diplomatic or violent. you have a choice. and when the inquisitor doesn't have any background at all, there is no justification for why the inquisitor needs to be a centrist, or why they would be one. my circle mage pc could have been part of the rebellion. my cadash could have been someone kicked out of orzammar as a child or someone who lived in dust town before they got to the surface. the lack of backstory for the inquisitor, similar to the warden or hawke, actively weakens the story - how do you write a story about someone losing their personal identity to their growing myth/legend, when there's literally nothing that is ever establishing what they've lost? how do you write a story about someone losing their personal identity, or being subsumed by their role, when there's nothing to indicate their personhood? how much more jarring would it have been to have been proudly and loudly and unapologetically pro-mage and pro-rebellion the entire game, only to get to halamshiral and be called vanquisher of the rebel mages? all of your personal politics and values disappearing and smoothed over in such a visibly visceral way? how much more gutting would it have been to have these values, and speak to them, and argue for them articulately, and still never be able to change your companions' minds, instead of constantly being put in a position where your companions get the last word in on absolutely everything, right down to arguments about slavery with dorian? how much more intense would it have been to have had a wide array of options in dealing with main quests and situations, only to have it boiled down to one thing or one of two decisions, with all the complexities stripped from it? how can you say that being forced to be centrist as the pc is central to the story being told, and not something that actively hampers the themes dai is trying to draw on?

i especially don't know how people can insist to overlook how - as in the methods chosen here - bioware's writing team in dai pushes the deconstruction of the 'chosen one' narrative that is present throughout dragon age. inquisition choses to do this by doubling down and retconning and two-sidesing every single complexity under the sun - from suggesting mages oppressed themselves by rebelling/not every mage even wanted to be free of the circle (while offering limited voices otherwise, and making sure to clarify the voices calling for mage freedom are Evil and Bad), to blaming the dalish for being slaughtered by the exalted marches in the dales, right through to the decision to make ameridan a dalish elf and yes even the decisions made around the writing for the evanuris. and we have to be clear about it, that if the overarching themes of dragon age are deliberate, then this was also a deliberate writing choice, to further emphasise the idea that history is written by the victors, that stories warp and change over time, etc etc. the series' successes in storytelling have been around the subjectivity of absolutely everything; there is no objective truth in dragon age, there is something that happened, and then there is 50 different opinions about it. the codex entries are not objective truth, they're biased reportings from people with agendas and pre-existing beliefs and notions. you can live through the battle of ostagar, and there are still 50 different perspectives on it, and all of them valid from that person's standpoint. inquisition takes a hard swerve from this, to insist on Objective Truths, not because it was the best way to make their point - they've been making their point with subtler storytelling for years - but because it's lazy, racist, colonialist writing. and worse, still, is that this writing is then forced as Objective Truths to you, the player character, with no way to argue even when you have the knowledge, or your pc could reasonably be expected to have the knowledge to counter this information, or to even argue about the interpretation of the "Evidence" you find of these Objective Truths.

and i suppose, if it's not your stories and histories being co-opted, it's easy enough to say having those choices don't matter to the overarching theme. i suppose, if it's not your religions or cultures being borrowed and frankenstein'd into this fictional world and the religion and culture you do identify with are primarily portrayed as inherently correct and superior in a way you were never taught to question, it can seem like questioning those beliefs and opinions in your companions and in npcs is a waste of effort. it's not, but i can see how it might feel that way.

inquisition itself, as a game, does not simply deliver a theme - the narrative tools used to deliver that theme throughout the story are frankly abhorrent. on top of that, key decisions in the plot have little to no immediate, serious consequences (for example, siding with the mages or templars only really has narrative consequences for who you face at fall of haven and in the temple of mythal; there are almost no consequences for kicking the wardens out of orlais; etc etc). companion character quests revolving around whether or not to change and strive for better, or to stay with their old regressive patterns have absolutely no narrative consequences because the world re-sets to status quo. 2/3rds of your choice for divine essentially reinstate the old systems, and only one (vivienne) actually makes any systemic changes to those systems, and the game mechanic itself is incredibly slanted towards choosing the divine that brings everything back to "normal". all following mentions of the media neatly dodge the question of whether you have made any lasting change at all. all to push the narrative that change isn't really possible, because society will always go back to the status quo. and if you try to challenge that status quo, you will just make things worse, so it's better to just stay as it is. nothing matters, no change is permanent, and anything you try to do, people will warp for their own agenda anyway, because you are not you anymore, you are a caricature people will use to justify the way things are and insist it is how it must continue to be.

which is a stupid hill to die on, if you're going to defend the ways inquisition tells its story. even trick weekes themselves find it a trite and bleak storytelling mechanism. when even bioware itself is going "our next narrative will Not be that" - will even be the opposite of that, that it's bullshit not to try to change things at all - it's as good as an admission that the ball was dropped on that in the previous installment.

anyway, i just think it's actually incredibly disingenuous and insulting to address criticisms around narrative framing and the limitations of character responses and choices in inquisition as if its overlooking the story's themes, or somehow missing the point that has been staring us in the face since origins. we know the themes they intended to convey. that still doesn't mean inquisition satisfactorily delivered. which i frankly think even bioware themselves recognised and are actively trying to do better in for da4.

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[shanastoryteller]

i'm going to move on from supernatural posting, i swear to god, but first i'm going to talk about ep 9x07 bad boys

the episode itself is fine and good (i mean it's another example of dean having a support network while sam can't have anyone and dean keeping secrets while when sam does it it's the worst betrayal ever but that's not what this is about and sometimes i think about what this show did two earnest, loving traumatized characters by turning them into the most tragic versions of themselves and - ok, this really isn't what this post is about)

but fandom interpretation of this episode actually drives me up a wall because it does a disservice to literally every character

one, john did not leave them without enough money for food. dean gambled it and lost it. there's nothing in canon to say that john was taking longer than expected, that they were running out of money, none of that. dean gambled food money and lost it and then tried to steal to make up for it. he was 16 when this happened and it was a bad decision but i don't think he should be at all vilified for this. he made a dumb mistake and then tried to fix it with another dumb mistake. john was right to be mad and sam was also right to tell him that he shouldn't beat himself up about it. just like with shtriga - yeah, dean was climbing the walls stuck in that hotel room. but you know who else was stuck in that hotel room? sam. and he didn't get a break to go play at the arcade. again, i'm not blaming dean here, he shouldn't have been stuck taking care of his brother that young and he was a kid and john leaving his his children behind while hunting a child eater, whether he was using them for bait or not, is crazy. but dean stealing food wasn't about john's neglect and all the sacrifices dean had to make for sam. it was about him trying to fix his fuck up

two, and this is the one that really gets me, dean didn't go back with john because he had to take care of sam

listen. listen to me. i am speaking from experience when i say this

parentified siblings are still, first and foremost, siblings. especially with only 4 years between them. the show shameless i think did an absolutely excellent job with this and is why i love the first few seasons of it so much. fiona is without a doubt parentified, she is raising those kids, but she's also clearly their sister not their mother

i know later seasons dean and fandom like to make it seem like dean literally raised sam and john was just a background figure but like. that's not realistic, and frankly doesn't even make sense

the reason dean leaves sonny and goes with john isn't because he feels like he has to keep him sam safe. it's isn't because he feels like he has to raise him. it's because he loves him

you are reducing dean to the most pathetic woe is me archetype with this interpretation and ridding him of all his rich loyalty and care and love to saddle him instead with comparatively flat duty. dean is more than sam's caretaker. he's his brother

there's also no reason for dean to feel this way. he just massively fucked up in taking care of sam - that's why he's with sonny in the first place. john has alternate people to take care of sam when he can't do it himself, as he has just proven, and while i don't think we should turn a couple teenage mistakes into making dean incapable, dean absolutely would - and did! he carries every fuck up regarding sam with him! so right now he's really, really low when it comes to his own estimation to take care of sam and leaving sonny because of that doesn't make any sense

but he looks at his brother and is reminded how much he missed him and loves him and realizes staying means he loses his brother. the good and the bad. so he goes, because he loves sam more than anything else

this is also why sam leaving for stanford cuts him so deep. that's why this moment is a parallel to that rather than being unrelated. stanford isn't about sam leaving dean even though he has a duty to care of him, because he doesn't. dean's 22 and at this point is always hunting with their father so there's no reason for sam to believe his presence is necessary for either john or dean's safety

no, dean's mad because he chose his love for his brother over a normal life and sam didn't

(sam didn't want to choose at all but this isn't about him)

anyway. dean fucks up sometimes and john sucks but not quite in the ways fandom thinks and dean loves his brother past reason or sense

[madlori]

Ok my fam, I think we all need a lil Come to Jesus moment. So let's talk about it.

"I'm disappointed Tommy wasn't in 8x02 and 8x03." That's ok! We'd all like to see him, and see our boys together. Going by precedent, we can probably expect to see him in 6-8 episodes this season (it could be more - Taylor had 13 episodes in season 5 - but we shouldn't count on it) and we've already burned one. I'd prefer not to have half of them during the opening disaster when SO MUCH ELSE is going on. I'd rather him appear in episodes when he's got a storyline with Buck, or even on his own, and especially at the midseason break or the end of the season when Relationship Events are more likely to happen.

"But the 217 engine!" I know. But as we sometimes like to say to other fans - we kind of baited ourselves with that. It was suggestive, sure. But the fact that production has MADE a 217 engine is also suggestive that we may see it again later, and they just put it in the hangar scene because they already had it and they had to fill up that hangar with as many vehicles as possible.

"An airplane disaster without using the pilot??" As others have pointed out, Tommy's not a jet pilot. And don't let anybody make you think you were nuts for thinking it was possible. It was definitely a reasonable theory, with supporting evidence, that he might be involved, but in the end, the big opening disaster is always going to be about our mains. As it should be. And honestly? It was great.

"But the whole point of bringing him back was to integrate him with the 118 more!" I'm sure that's still a goal they have, but it's probably easier said than done. Not just from a writing standpoint, but a contractual one, in that there's a limit to how often they can use him, so they have to pick and choose where.

"It's like they don't care about this relationship as much as we do." You're right. NOBODY will care about it as much as we do. They care about the main characters, about the show's actual premise (i.e. first responders encountering wild situations, secondarily the characters' personal lives). There is no universe in which ANY relationship in the show will be prioritized as much as we, the fandom, would like it to be. That's just life in the big city. But they do care, oh boy, they do. Enough to use BT scenes in off-season promo. Enough to write Tommy into a scene in the opening episode where, frankly, he didn't NEED to be. Also, consider this - to shoot that scene, Lou was probably on set a grand total of one day, MAYBE two. And they made sure to include him in the jokey "bee pickup lines" reel. You know what other relationship we haven't seen much? Buddie. They have not appeared together outside of work (and honestly, barely AT work either) except in the birthday party scene, and hey, did you notice that they do not interact at ALL in that scene? Buck spends that entire scene interacting only with Tommy. And that's a friendship featuring two mains that we know they value. That's not indicative of anything except the sheer scarcity of screentime.

"They should be promoting the queer relationship!" Should they? They've never really done that before, with the several pre-existing queer relationships. I have always sort of appreciated that they have not hung a neon sign on Buck and Tommy saying LOOK AT OUR NEW QUEER PAIRING. It's never gotten the Very Special Episode treatment - Buck never had gay panic, or much coming-out drama - and I like that. I like treating it no differently than other romantic pairings on the show. And they did actually promote it quite a bit when it happened. Now it would just feel kinda performative to me.

"Will he be in [whatever episode]?" Imma gently suggest we not do this every week. He'll be there or he won't. There'll be some we know he's in (I think 8x06 is a lock), some we won't know and will be pleasantly surprised, or unpleasantly surprised. I'd say odds for 8x04 are...20%, rising to at least 50% with 8x05 and 100% for 8x06.

And if you ever feel sad about it - go look at a still of Buck from any episode so far this season, and say to yourself, "This man is having heaps of amazing sex with his hot pilot boyfriend on the regular. Canonically."

I know a lot of us have encountered some pretty irritating gloating from people who hate this relationship (in a frankly weirdly obsessive way) about him being not there. Just remember - that's all they have to gloat about. The only "victory" they can claim is the absence of a character? Lame. And it's not even a victory, it's just the cost of doing business when your ship involves a recurring character. Sit back and enjoy your canon relationship between two men who've actually kissed on screen and ignore it. We can be generous about it.

So let's not talk ourselves off the deep end, shall we? I'd like to keep being a reasonable fandom.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

We talk about how mischaracterized Hobie is - which he is - but I honestly think someone else is characterized REALLY weirdly by fandom

Miguel O'Hara and Misrepresentation of His Rage: a.k.a Miguel has Ken Energy you fools

[this is a breakdown where I examine Miguel's trauma, his relationship with Miles, his role in The Society, and his personality]

I talk a lot of shit about the Hobie tag, but the over-saturation of smut in the Miguel tag is at critical mass.

And like Latino-fetishization aside, I feel like he's not written as a human.

He's written so flat.

I swear ya'll be writing him as the angriest, coldest, most anti-social man on earth. Ya'll be having him rude and avoidant with no friends whatsoever or a romantic soft latin lover and NO IN BETWEEN

which is so funny cause like... I feel like Miguel is Just A Guy

I know they're easy to overlook but I think about moments like these all the time

But I ALWAYS see him written him as friendless, and cold, or constantly irritated and angry but like - I feel like most of the time Miguel is just some dude. Like in a Good Way.

And he's fine with that.

Miguel runs a Society Full of Spider-people, and they're working for him voluntarily. Peter Parkers wouldn't work for someone they didn't think was genuinely, good-likeable, and level-headed.

He compliments Lego-Spider-Man. When Hobie was there he wasn't pissed he was just like 'not in the mood rn ngl'

and Hobie didn't take the piss outta him - because I feel like him and Hobie have a mutal understanding/relaxed relationship. All throughout the movie Hobie isn't talking bad about Miguel in specific - he never says anything about Miguel being annoying or evil - he's always taking about The Society Miguel has made.

Even Hobie - who will openly talk bad about the PM, doesn't really feel the need to diss Miguel's character in specific. Which I find very interesting.

I think this, along with a couple other things shows that the way we view Miguel in fandom is not really how he is, like..when he's not going buckwild insane.

Miguel and His Role as Canon

I could see Miguel taking his role as boss very seriously - the same way he took being a father.

Miguel has assumed the role of 'leader' over these Spider-people. In his eyes, it's his job to lead these people through their canon events to the other side, for the safety of the universe, and for them to become the people fate says they're supposed to be.

Because he made the mistake of 'going against fate'. A lot of the time we say that Miguel's justification is 'because I suffered, you must too'. But in his eyes, it's more like 'I tried to run from who I was supposed to be and it blew up in my face. Please don't make the same mistake - it's not worth it.'

Quiet literally 'Do what you're supposed to do, and things won't fall apart around you.'

And I think that really says a lot about how he feels about his own choices, and his own daughter.

Miguel broke canon to be with his daughter, and because of that, she - and billions of others, died. And Miguel feels directly responsible for that. In his eyes, he killed his daughter and murdered billions of people.

And although he loves his daughter - he sees it as not worth it. He sees taking her father's place as a mistake.

To Miguel, canon events and the pain they cause are much more 'worth it' and 'tolerable', than the pain and guilt of killing an entire universe.

Because with canon events, there is no fault. It's not your fault you couldn't catch Gwen Stacy. It's not that you're not fast enough, it's that it's suppose to happen. It's not your fault.

But in Miguel's case - it was his fault. It wasn't suppose to happen.

That's why Miles sets him off in a way others don't and can't. Because he wasn't supposed to happen.

When things are under control, Miguel is fine. When things aren't, Miguel isn't.

Miguel needs order. He needs canon. Not because he likes it, but because he feels beaten into submission by it. He feels safe in the idea that canon events happen even if you do everything right, because he still feels the guilt of having done something 'wrong'.

That's why he sees letting people die in canon events as 'the right thing'.

It's the trolley problem.

A trolley is hurtling at someone you love, on the other track there are 5 people. Do you let the one you love die, or do you hit the switch and save them - and take the blame for killing five people?

What's the right thing to do? Save your captain father and letting a universe die? Or letting your father die, but the universe will for sure live.

Miguel has already made his choice, even if he didn't know it at the time. By becoming a father, Miguel hit the switch. And he chose his daughter at the expense of a universe. And he regrets that decision. He feels guilt, like he's to blame.

When canon events happen, there's no one to blame. When anomalies happen, there is.

Miles and Miguel

Miles and Miguel have an interesting and unique dynamic with each other, one that I haven't seen anyone mention yet.

When I look at Miles and Miguel, especially in this scene:

I kinda see Miguel and a past version of himself. Miguel trying to stop what he sees - as someone about to make the same mistake he did.

When Miguel met his daughter, he didn't know about it's threat to the multiverse. And although it might be described as the best time in Miguel's life, he regrets it. If he would go back, he would have rather let his daughter live. Fatherless, but at least she would have lived.

Miguel didn't know. But Miles does. And that's what makes Miguel so furious.

Miles is going to go against canon, be with his dad, and threaten the multiverse. And Miguel believes that if Miles does this, billions of people and beings across a universe will die. 100% totality rate, 100% assured.

Miles is in the same position as Miguel once was. Miles has the same choice. To choose the one he loves over canon.

The only difference is Miles knows. He has a chance.

Miguel believes that Miles can spare himself the pain, and the guilt of murdering billions - if he just listened to him.

Miguel is the only Spider-person who has ever killed a Spider-verse. And he doesn't want that for Miles.

Miles being an anomaly was one thing. He was ready to calmly talk about that. But when Miguel sees him going down the same road as he once did, making the same choice even though Miguel is telling him not to - it makes it snap.

Because if Miguel could go back, knowing what he knows - if Miguel could only be in Miles' place - he wouldn't. Like Rio said - Miguel would kill to be in his place.

He sees Miguel like how Rio describes herself, oddly enough. Rio says she'd kill to be in Miles place, and she doesn't understand his 'irresponsible' behavior. But unbeknownst to her - his 'irresponsible' behavior is more heroic than she can understand.

Miguel is just the same. He sees Miles' choice as irresponsible, that he's making all the wrong choices even though people are throwing opportunity at him.

Miles is the only other Spider-person to risk what Miguel risked. And, genuinely believing everyone will die because of this - he's furious at Miles, the same way he's still furious at himself. He loved his daughter, and he knows Miles loves it dad. But having been on the other side of it all, he sees it as not worth it.

Miguel wants to be the only Spider-man who is the way he is. He doesn't want to Miles to do what he did, become what he is. Because he knows theres no coming back from that.

If Miguel could go back and shake himself and scream in his face to leave Gabriella alone, to just leave her dimension alone, he would. But he can't.

So he does it to Miles.

Miguel as a Boss

I don't think Miguel is an outright mean or abrasive person. I feel like outside of Miles, he's fairly calm, albeit a bit stressed. I could see him being really organized and good at time management -

And I can see Miguel being good with people. I don't think he's the kinda boss that'd be like 'Oh, you had a canon event last night? Your girlfriend fell off a building? Yeah, we get that a lot, get over it.'

And if anything - I think he'd want to help the Spider-people when it comes to processing canon events.

Miguel believes that canon events are necessary, not just to the multiverse, but to the development of who Spider-people are 'supposed' to be. So I think he'd set up support systems around HQ to help them process it, and he'd at least be a bit understanding.

I could absolutely see Miguel as the type to ask a teammate "Are you alright?" after something intense, or telling them to sit out. I could see him giving generous leave for Spiders who are going through stuff.

By Jess's response, it seems as if he leaves most of that to her, but I feel like the fact he stops to tell Gwen "Don't worry, kid." shows that he's use to comforting people, or prioritizes putting people at ease.

I mean, what Spider-man doesn't?

Miguel does seem to get along with people (aside from Miles and Gwen when he's scolding her), and it seems like people do like Miguel.

Miguel's Personality

Tbh - I don't think he's nearly as angry as fandom makes him out to be.

He was raising a child. I imagine that for the most part, he's pretty patient.

Like if you call him a name, he's not gonna get pissed. I feel like he's more likely to be like "Haha. Very funny." Or just pinch his nose bridge and be like "You done?"

I mean I know with all the gnashing and clawing and yelling and going apeshit, it can be easy to imagine Miguel as JUST that.

But I also like to imagine that most of the time, he's just like that normal boss as Target.

And a lot of his day is spent doing boring mundane things.

He's not always standing there brooding over videos of him and his dead daughter. He only does that when he's psyching himself up to yell at Miles.

Outside of that, he probably has a lot more things to do, realistically speaking. Organizing missions, checking status reports, looking over intake forms of anomalies, okaying and vetoing different protocols. Approving new technology, taking complaints from members, dealing with Hobie (an extra job in its own right), fixing things MayDay breaks, etc, etc.

And he's completely fine with that. Maybe he even finds calmness in it. When there's order, and routine, and everyone is working together and there's no kinks in the hose per say, he can operate.

Like yeah he's a little irritated and looks like he only slept 4 hours - but he's here and he's going to work with his team and employees, make sure things run smoothly, and make sure everyone gets home safe.

He's gonna try and make the society a nice place to be and make sure people on the team (like Lego) feel appreciated and odd-one-outs like Hobie get to hang and do what they want without much kickback.

The other Spider-people - like Pavi - wouldn't have joined otherwise.

If Pavi had showed up and Miguel was all stern and cold and rude, he probably would've been like 'no thanks my friend'

Miguel knew Peter B. before he lost Gabriella. So he had to become friends with Peter some way. He was putting up with Peter and his humor by choice, and in return Peter must have found Miguel cool enough to hang out with.

I think it's because Miguel is good with people, a lot of different types of people.

He's pretty down to earth, even if he is a work-aholic. He can be fun to chill or hang out with, even if he's a bit of a tight-ass.

Sure his humor may be dry, and his personality tame, but he's just him.

But I can see him as being a guy who you see at the gym routinely and never say hi to but you just nod at each other in silent respect while doing your workouts sometime.

Or the dude at your job you only see at the coffee machine - you know he does other stuff, but you never run into him anywhere else.

Or the dude who'll stop on the street when you ask for the time and lift one earphone before telling you it, then walking away without another word.

DO YOU GET WHAT I MEAN DO YOU GET THAT VIBE Like just Dude He's like a dad but not like a 'Dad vibe' with like sneakers or anything but like 'Dad who comes to PTA meeting but doesn't talk to anybody and quietly leaves when it's over'.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU UNDERSTAND THIS VIBE It's giving Ken.

Anyways stop avoiding Miguel's Kenergy.

[captainsophiestark]

Bad Timing

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day 25 Prompt: "Do I look like I knew that?"

Summary: When Eloise needs help with a problem, she knows she can count on her brother and his new wife for help.

Word Count: 1,047

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You know, lazy days like this are by far my favorite," I mused, curling into my husband's side as we laid in bed together. "No galas, no gossip from the Ton. Just the two of us."

"I certainly have to agree," said Benedict, my husband, as he traced patterns on the bare skin of my back. "Although, I do enjoy watching Colin wade through the swarm of Mamas every time we go out, now that he is the only unwed Bridgerton son. At least until Gregory gets a bit older."

"I'd say you were being mean, but he did ditch you and Anthony for quite a while in his travels."

"Yes, he did. So he deserves this."

I laughed, shaking my head a bit at my husband's antics. A moment later, he pulled me tighter to his side, rolling us so I laid completely on top of his chest. I rose up on my elbows to meet his eyes and found him looking at me with a mischevious smile.

"You know, it's just occurred to me," he started. "There are quite a few ways I can think of that our time would be better spent than talking about my brother."

"Oh really?" I asked, grinning and leaning down closer to Benedict. "And what might those ideas be?"

"Well for starters..."

With that, he brought his hand up to the back of my neck and pulled me into a searing kiss. I rested all my weight on him, kissing right back, until a knock at the door jarred us both out of the moment.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, and Benedict let me. We shared a look.

"Maybe whoever it is will go away if we ignore them," he whispered in suggestion. As if he'd willed it into happening, a voice from the other side of the door called out.

"Y/N! If you're in there, please, I need to talk to you."

Eloise. Benedict's little sister, who I'd become close with throughout the course of Benedict courting me. I gave Benedict an apologetic look.

"No," he whined as I rolled off of him, quickly wrapping a robe around myself and heading for the door.

"I have to," I replied. "I can't ignore her. Make yourself decent."

With that, I turned from my husband and went to open the door just wide enough to see Eloise on the other side, and for her to see me.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she cried, moving to push past me and into the room. I let her, just hoping that Benedict had done as I'd said. Eloise and I had done this a few times as we'd gotten closer, and whenever it happened, I knew she really, truly needed me.

I turned around to follow Eloise back into the room after shutting the door behind me, only to find her frozen just a few steps from where she'd come in. Benedict stood next to the bed, looking tired but resigned to our new morning activity as he laced up his shirt.

"Good morning, Eloise," he said, a little edge of teasing in his tone. "You know, I was trying to enjoy the morning with my wife-"

"Do I look like I knew that?" she cried. I fought back a laugh as I walked forward to wrap my arm around her shoulder.

"It's alright, Eloise," I said. "Benedict and I were about to get up for the morning, anyway."

Benedict shot me a look with his eyebrows almost into his hairline, and I glared right back, imploring him to go along with me. He cleared his throat.

"Right. That we were. What did you need help with, sister?"

She hesitated, so I walked around to face her, putting both of my hands on her shoulders and blocking her eyeline to Benedict. I gave her a small smile, so she'd know everything was alright, then spoke in a low voice that I knew Benedict wouldn't be able to hear.

"If this is a ladies' problem, or one you don't want your brother to know about, El, I'll throw him out of here right now and we can talk, alright? But if you're embarrassed about knocking when you did, then you truly don't need to be. We love you, and we'd both drop far more important things to help you whenever you need it."

Eloise sighed, nodding a little as she did. The bright red blush that had risen to her cheeks started to fade, and she at last met my eyes again.

"Thank you. I... suppose it wouldn't hurt to have Benedict's input as well," she said. I nodded, giving her a bright smile before turning around to face my husband.

"Put your problem-solving hat on, Benedict," I said. I started drifting for the couches by Benedict's turret window, one of my favorite features of his room. "We've got a family matter to deal with."

They both beamed at me as they started following me over to the couch. I'd considered a few of Benedict's siblings as good as family for a long time now, but it felt amazing to be able to say that and have it be completely true.

Benedict and Eloise settled into the couch on either side of me, Benedict resting his arm across my shoulders. Those kinds of casual touches would've been scandalous before we were married, but now we could do them whenever we wanted to, which also made my heart sing.

Eloise gave us both one last look with a raised eyebrow, then launched into her explanation of the problem that had brought her to our doorstep, which had something to do with a boy of virtually no social status who'd caught her attention. Benedict and I spent the rest of the morning, helping her as best we could, in the way only we could.

Although I hated that Eloise had to deal with the problems she dealt with, a small part of me sang the entire morning as Benedict and I worked together, the perfect team, to help his little sister. This was going to be the rest of our lives, with Eloise and maybe someday with children of our own, and I couldn't be happier thinking about that future with Benedict. We made the perfect team.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[velvees-archive]

Some post-SOJ DLC case thoughts about Edgeworth, his opinion on marriage, and by extension, love.

…and how, at the very center of this discussion is one Phoenix Wright.

Contains spoilers from 3-5, 6-5 and 6-DLC

As if the subtext wasn’t enough.

I wanted to share some thoughts about the DLC case and Edgeworth's insistence on remaining unwed, which, from what I've seen, is a commonly employed gotcha moment against NaruMitsu (because all relationships must end in marriage, right? /lh). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind. I just…didn’t find the dialogue exchange very damning.

Coming off 6-5, where Edgeworth says this,

I saw the DLC as an extension of Edgeworth's sentimentality, this time directed at Phoenix’s romantic prospects.

To make my stance clear, I don’t think Edgeworth is blind to romantic overtures; he just doesn’t care about them very much. As in, Edgeworth is largely unaffected by and uninterested in matters of the heart (with a concession that he is obtuse when it comes to people expressing interest in him, unless they're Wendy Oldbag over the top about it). But even if you feel he's terrible at sensing romantic tension, my argument still stands. Edgeworth doesn’t care about romance, and we never really see him prying into anyone’s romantic relationships…

…with the exception to this being Phoenix Wright’s.

From Bridge to the Turnabout:

Sorry for the janky screenshots. I didn't didn't take 3-5 pics on my Switch so I had to search for YouTube clips. Let the record show I actually really enjoy Feenris PLUS I love angst, so this interaction was…chef’s kiss.

Assuming Edgeworth doesn't care about romance but he can understand romantic signaling, this is already pretty condemning. Why are you poking around Phoenix's business if you're so uninterested in love? Surely, there are bigger fish to fry, like investigating the Inner Temple Garden because the clues found could be vital to catching the victim's murderer?

Assuming Edgeworth sucks at detecting any romantic undertones, the implications are even worse. You're telling me the guy who doesn't know the first thing about romance somehow clocked Phoenix and Iris's chemistry this quickly? How? For what reason were you able to catch it? How attuned are you to Phoenix's personal affairs?

Now, shifting back to the DLC case, we have this lovely interaction when you show Miles the wedding chapel pamphlet:

Something to note with Phoenix’s “W-Wait. You’re not thinking about finally settling down and getting married, are you?” is that the screen flashes and we hear the damage sound after the “W-Wait."

Once again, Miles inquires about Phoenix's love life, this time after Phoenix asks about his. I've analyzed my fair share of Miles Edgeworth dialogue, and I don't think he pingpongs questions just to make conversation (see: “Say something, Wright. I’m not good at small talk.”). This leads me to believe he was genuinely curious and (subtly) trying to fish for information. And why would that be the case?

My overarching point is this: Edgeworth isn’t as obtuse about romance as everyone makes him out to be (both in-universe and from a fandom perspective), which makes his mentioning marriage plans around Phoenix even more suspicious. The way the scene reads to me is that Edgeworth, in Phoenix’s company and swept away by the intimate atmosphere, lets his interest in Phoenix Wright slip through the cracks once Phoenix shows him the pamphlet. It's sentimental of him and it surfaces—once again—while he's investigating a case. At risk of sounding repetitive, there are bigger fish to fry.

It'd be less suspicious if Phoenix had similar conversations with other cast members he shows the pamphlet to, but it never gets to be this personal, even when he presents it to Maya, his best friend.

Good news if you feel otherwise about my “Edgeworth isn’t that obtuse” headcanon though, because should you believe he is actually just that clueless, you now have to contend with this:

If Miles can’t pick up on all things love, why is he so attuned to Wright’s (and to my knowledge, only Wright’s) romantic prospects in particular?

So yeah. Checkmate, I guess. Edgeworth might not be interested in marriage or love, but he’s definitely interested in Phoenix’s partners, or lack thereof. Take that how you will.

[cacodaemonia]

I've had this in my drafts for months, and I just saw a post complaining about fan artists (while having the nerve to start out with, "I love fan artists so much but...") who draw characters this way or don't draw them that way, so I figured it was about time to share this.

You know that unwritten rule in fandom that says you shouldn't demand that fic writers cater to your tastes? "Don't like, don't read"? Here's a reminder that the same goes for fanart.

Sometimes, I see complaints that fan artists don't draw character A exactly how they look in canon/in a particular slice of canon/according to someone's specific headcanons. Sometimes, I see complaints that character A is being depicted, say, without enough body hair, or with the wrong body type, or as a different age than they appear in canon.

If you find yourself getting upset with fan artists over things like this, I hope you'll take a moment to:

mind your own business

consider how fucking hard art is

I think a lot of people who haven't spent time in the art trenches have absolutely no clue how difficult it can be to draw a human, period—let alone human features you haven't already practiced a million times.

This can be especially true for artists who don't have a lot of drawing experience. When I was a kid, I mostly drew women, so learning to draw more typically masculine features was a challenge, and it took me many years to even get okay at it. It takes a lot of practice to figure out how to draw a variety of facial structures, body types, hair styles, ages, etc.

For a example, I have never known an artist who doesn't think drawing children is a bitch and a half, and wrinkle placement can mean the difference between drawing something that looks like an elderly human versus a shriveled apple.

Simply drawing body hair can be very time consuming. You also have to understand hair growth patterns and direction and take into account if the person's body hair is very curly or more straight, etc. If I just want to do a really quick sketch, maybe I don't feel like spending 10-20 minutes adding body hair. Maybe some people don't like body hair so they don't want to draw it. Maybe some people have carpal tunnel syndrome or medial epicondylitis and the extremely repetitive motion of adding body hair to characters is physically painful. You don't know. And it's not your place to tell them they're wrong.

Fanart, just like fanfiction, is about drawing the things we like—NOT catering to what other people want or think we should be making.

So feel free to talk about how much you love it when fan artists draw characters in ways you like! But don't be a jerk by demanding people draw what you want, and don't put down those who don't cater to you. You can have all the personal preferences you want in fanart, but it's rude and entitled to force those preferences on others fans or act like you're a better person because of your tastes in the appearances of fictional characters.

[ineffablelara]

Loki and his severe self esteem issues

Something I don't think we as a fandom discuss enough is the moment where Loki casually says "my life was a waste of time" to Mobius in s2ep6, I kinda understand that bc the finale was so traumatazing to some people that they only watched it once and tried their best to not think about it for too long

But this moment stuck with me because he says it with such calmness, there's no bite in his words, no sarcasm, no irony, he truly believes that, he thinks his whole life was a waste of time and this is so incredibly heartbreaking, at that point he already spent centuries trying to fix the loom only to learn it was a failsafe, centuries of his life wasted on a mission that lead to nothing, he probably think his life on the sacred timeline was a waste of time too, I'm so sure he'd do everything different if he could go back there, I'm sure he looks at all the things he did with so much shame and regret, a life wasted with jealousy and bitterness and acting out to get attention of others while being desperate for his father's approval and wanting to be Thor's equal

Even though he only acted that way because of his own trauma too, abandoned as a baby, adopted by a man who had a political agenda in mind when he took him and who made Loki feel unfit and inferior his whole life, raised in a society that looked down at all the things that made him him (magic, tricks, preference for diplomacy instead of fist fighting etc), Loki grew up in a hostile enviroment that only made him insecure and alone, he has severe self esteem issues and all he wanted his whole life was to be accepted and loved by his people and most of all by his father, he chased that approval in the wrong ways and now that he's mature and wiser he understands that but it's still so sad to see him talking about himself like that

He dedicated centuries of his life to doing the right thing, to saving the multiverse and making sure everyone would be safe, he made friends, he became kind and selfless and somehow he still thinks his existence was a mistake, his insecurities are so deep and internalized that I'm afraid he'll never truly be free of them, I wish someone hugged him very tight and told him how amazing and important he is, that his mistakes in the past don't define who he is now and that they're proud of how far he came in his journey

Loki's existence was the greatest gift the multiverse could've asked for, without him everyone would still be part of hwr's schemes and the tva would still be taking away people's free will, I hope his mind changed after the making of Yggdrasil and that he starts looking at himself with more compassion and love bc he deserves it more than anyone at this point

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Lost & Found

SYNOPSIS: After a day spent on the road with Dean, confessions of love shared between you, you find yourself injured, and unaware of who he is, or where you are.

WORD COUNT: 2951

PAIRING: Reader x Dean

WARNING: Blood, pain, fluff, memory loss

CHARACTERS: Dean x fem!reader

FANDOM: Supernatural

You sit in the Impala, the summer sun beating down relentlessly on the worn seats, the leather sticking to your skin. The air inside is thick with the scent of old vinyl and memories—this car, Dean Winchester's car, holds stories and adventures you could only imagine. You fidget, impatiently tapping your fingers on the dashboard waiting for Dean to return.

Just when you're about to roll down the window to let in some air, the driver door creaks open. Dean slides in beside you, his trademark smirk lighting up his rugged features. "Hey there, sweetheart," he drawls, leaning back comfortably in the seat.

"Finally," you tease, giving him a playful shove. "Took you long enough. What were you doing?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Just checking something out. You know, keeping an eye on things." His eyes meet yours briefly, a hint of something more lingering in his gaze.

"You gonna tell me what you were checking out?" You ask, pressing for information.

The heat seems to intensify as you sit there, a charged silence settling between you. Dean clears his throat, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. "Hey so I wanted to ask you something"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Way to avoid the question; It's sweltering. Can we drive and talk so I can get some air?"

Dean nods, his gaze drifting out the windshield for a moment before returning to you. "Yeah, let's drive." His voice softens, a rare vulnerability peeking through his tough exterior.

"Everything ok?" You shift your attention to him as the Impala roars to life, pulling out of the gravel. Deans demeanor had changed - something was weighing on him

Taking a deep breath, and licking his lips he spoke softly "I wanted to talk about us. Where we're headed you know - "

For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Dean's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to read your expression. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, genuine and tender. "I think it's obvious, that I really like you and I'd like to... Yenno, keep you here. With me."

He pulls the car off the road, under the shade of large maple trees.

He puts one hand on the steering wheel, and the other across the back of the seat, turning his body to fully face you.

You were speechless. For the many years that you'd know the Winchesters, they had only called on you when they were in town, and needed help on a hunt; their presence always welcome and you, always happy to see them -- especially Dean.

You turn your gaze from Dean - staring out the windshield, mouth parted, trying to find the words

He presses his lips in a thin line, puffing out his chest "Say...something?" He raises his brows.

You shake your head, a smile spreading across your face, as your world swirls around you.

"Yes." You say, raising an eyebrow. It was a statement, but you couldn't believe you were saying it yourself.

"Yea?" Dean chuckled back.

You look into his deep green eyes watching your lips, his own parting, into a toothy grin.

"I honestly. I don't know what else to say, but yes. I want to be on the road with you." You exhale. You'd always had a thing for Dean, and whenever he came out of the woodwork with his brother for your help, you welcomed him in with open arms - and an open bed. Your relationship never really defined, but both of you always there for one another. You were intimate with his body, mind, and his mannerisms, almost as if you had been in a relationship with him for years before, everything so familiar. But today was the first time he'd caught you speechless- like he was finally letting his guard down.

Without another word, he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips meet yours in a kiss that spoke of years of unsaid feelings and shared moments. The warmth of the summer day fades into insignificance compared to the heat that courses through you both, the undeniable connection that has been there all along.

As you pull apart, breathless and exhilarated, Dean rests his forehead against yours. "Alright" he says, pleased.

You continue to stare at Dean, his smile stuck to his face. He turns his attention back to the road, and pulls off again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After a long day of driving and following up on leads Sam had been texting you, you were finally on the last leg of the trip. Windows down, warm air coasting through the impala, and the sun setting low on a never ending road, you couldn't help but stare at Dean.

His intense eyes focused on the road; one hand on the steering wheel and the other setting his dad's notebook aside. He pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples. "I don't know I think Sam lost the plot on this one. What do you say we call it a night and head home." He looked over to you, his face ruggedly handsome, but soft, the setting sun highlighting his green eyes. "Yours or mine?" You smirk, knowing this would set him on fire.

"Oh woman." He bit his lip in return, the Impala roaring to life on the pavement as he set his foot down, determined to get home faster. The place you had called home for years was just your friends old house. After they had decided to move on to bigger and better things (settled family life outside of hunting) they donated their home to you, so long as you kept it a functional hub for Hunters passing through who might be seeking solace. It wasn't much - a yellow barn style home, decrepit of most it's shingles and gutters going awry.

Dean can't help but exhale at the sight of it - it's like a second home to every hunter.

The paint on the siding might be peeling, but to him, it speaks of history and saftey. He admires the way the porch sags just so, like it's been holding up the weight of countless memories. Stepping out of the Impala, Dean stretches his legs and scans the surroundings with a trained eye, noting the overgrown garden and the slight tilt of the mailbox. It’s clear this place has weathered its fair share of storms, and you'd both seen most of them.

As you and Dean approach your home, you notice something immediately unsettling—the front door is slightly ajar, a faint creaking sound as it sways in the breeze. Your instincts kick in, and without a word, you and Dean silently draw your guns, communicating with a glance as you cautiously step inside.

The air inside is heavy with tension, and you move quietly through the familiar rooms, alert for any sign of danger. It's then that you hear a low, guttural growl from the shadows. A Borderwalker emerges, its twisted form and glowing eyes a chilling sight in the dim light.

Instinct and training take over as Dean shifts to cover you - but too late.

The creature aims a feral strike, hitting your gun clear of your hand, and slicing your arm as it does. You let out a scream, which sets the creature in a frenzy, your blood dripping as it nears, closing in, faster.

In the midst of the chaos, another blow lands, and pain shoots through you. You stumble back, clutching your side where the creature's claws have left a deep gash. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, but you can feel the warmth of blood seeping through your fingers.

Dean's voice cuts through the haze of the creature's screams, filled with concern as he calls out your name. He moves swiftly to cover you, his focus shifting from you to the monster. He moves his body to cover you. Dean manages to set a few rounds into the creature, it's body crashing to the floor

Dean takes a few seconds to process the creature is down before he turns his attention to you - still standing, barely, clutching you side where the blood seeping from the gash and your arm, as the blood slowly flows over your jeans.

He says nothing, holstering his gun, and grabbing you around the waist - you wince at the sharp pain as his hand grazes your wound. You put your good arm over his shoulder as he steadies your weight and helps you back out the front door of the house.

"We'll get you patched up," Dean says urgently, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and determination. He supports you as you stagger, guiding you to the Impala and setting you gingerly across the back seat.

Dean's concern is obvious, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he hurries around the front of the car, getting in, and spinning the wheels of the impala burning out of the driveway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later, when the adrenaline had faded and the wounds are tended to, you catch Dean stealing worried glances at you. His usual bravado is shrouded by a face full of worry, his concern for your well-being a testament to the words he admitted earlier.

You adjust yourself upon the leather seats of the bunker's library. Wincing slightly at the soreness.

"What can I do?" He strains, looking at you from the couch, afraid to touch you, in fear of causing you more pain. "Nothing" you exhale, finally settling into another position, less painful than the last, but still uncomfortable.

You let out a shaky sigh, your injured arm grabbing your side, the other gripping the arm of the chair as a surge of pain makes its way through your body. "I think I'm going to pass out." you state. A feeling of warm washes over you as you feel a lightness in your head you'd never felt before,

Your head nods off but not before feeling Dean's hands on your waist balancing you before darkness consumes you.

As consciousness gradually returns, you find yourself lying on a cool, hard surface.. Confusion grips your mind momentarily, but as you try to sit up, a sharp ache shoots through your body, reminding you that you were injured.

The last thing you recall is seeing a concerned face looming over you, with a reassuring quiver in his voice despite the urgency in his eyes.

Now, you're on the floor of what seems to be a bunker, surrounded by shelves stocked with books and weapons. The air smells of old paper and dust, mingled with the faint scent of leather from the armchair you must have fallen from. You groan softly, testing your limbs and wincing at the soreness that accompanies each movement.

"Hey hey take it easy," a man says, his voice gravelly yet comforting. "You knocked your head pretty hard. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck - where am I?" you manage to joke weakly, attempting a smile despite the pain.

The man's movements become rigid, his weak smile turning into a look of pure concern. He moves closer to be beside you. "Let's get you back up," his gaze assessing your injuries.

With his help, you manage to get up, as he places you gingerly back into the leather chair. He offers you a bottle of water, which you gratefully accept, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. As you drink, he watches you - his gaze, wandering over every part of your body.

"Are you okay?" He says "I think so." You reply, still a little dazed from passing out, and the pain in your abdomen. "Was I in an accident? My side is killing me." You lift your shirt to reveal the hastily sewed up side, crusted with dried blood and enflamed. "Oh wow, ow. What happened?!"

The mans eyes furrow, more concern spreading across his face "You're kidding right?"

"No?" You say, your heart starts to race, the feeling of fight or flight kicking in. Suddenly you don't feel too safe here.

"Do you ... remember anything?" He presses more, sitting down on a couch beside you.

"Remember what?" You wince as pain shoots through your side, your thoughts running around, your eyes darting through this cold bunker room, searching for a door. "Where am I?" You ask more sternly.

"Home" The man says, with a stern voice. "You're home, with me."

"And you are?" You reply, eyes wide at him

His lips part, as if to answer you but his words fail him. His green eyes pierce yours, his chest rising and falling with deep hard breaths - his body language speaking the same panic as yours.

"Dean." He breaths out, still staring at you, as if saying his name would trigger something within you.

A few moments pass, silence heavily dripping in the air between you. "Why am I here, and what happened to me?" You need answers. The fact that Dean hadn't moved from his seat and he was still staring at you was making you uncomfortable. You tried to pull your legs to your chest to shield yourself, but wince again as the pain from your side injury ripped through you.

Seeing you in pain, Dean was immediately by your side again. You flinched as he touched your arm. "Sorry" You whisper. "I don't know you."

It's as almost if you had taken a knife and slid it into his heart. His brow furrowed, he pressed his lips into a line. He closed his eyes and inhaled, as he backed away.

"How much do you remember." He asks, sliding back into his seat on the couch.

You try to think back - to when? You remember the day being hot and spending a lot of time in a stuffy old car...but with who? You think you were on a hunt....You remember being at your house.. A heavy sense of dread washes over you - a fog in your mind hiding whatever he was trying to get you to remember, from your brain.

"Honestly not much. I remember getting a call from a hunter, and I think I was on the road with him today." You trace the cracks in the floor with your eyes, trying to concentrate as you recall.

He sighs, putting his head in his hands. "Ok." He exhales. "Let me walk you through." He leans forward, hands clasped together, as he retells the day. Where you were - who he was. That you've known him for years. You were dating? You had been injured. You were in the bunker, recovering.

Hours pass in a blur as you drift in and out of sleep, tended to by Dean who checks on you regularly, bringing you food, medicine, and a change of clothes. His presence is a comforting constant in this unfamiliar place, his voice a steady anchor as you navigate the haze of pain and exhaustion.

Eventually, as your strength returns and the worst of your injuries begin to succumb to the meds easing their throbs of pain; Dean suggests you rest in his room—a quieter, more comfortable space where you can recover fully. Hesitant but grateful for his care, you agree, allowing him to guide you down the corridors to his private quarters.

His room is surprisingly neat, with a large, inviting bed dominating the space. Dean helps you settle in, arranging pillows for support and ensuring you're comfortable. Despite the pain, a sense of safety washes over you in this room, surrounded by Dean's presence and the warmth of the bunker.

"You rest up," Dean says softly, his hand briefly squeezing yours in reassurance. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

You nod, offering him a tired but genuine smile. "Thank you, Dean," you murmur.

He returns the smile, his eyes softening with a mixture of concern and happiness that you were settled in his room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As you slowly open your eyes, the soft light filtering through the curtains reveals a familiar ceiling above you. You're in a cozy room, comfortably nestled in Dean Winchester's bed. Confusion clouds your mind for a moment until the memories start to trickle back—there was a hunt, a fall, and then darkness.

Just then, the door creaks open, and Dean steps in, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Hey there," he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your confusion.

A sudden clarity washes over you, like a veil lifting from your mind. You remember now—Dean Winchester, the hunts, the Impala, and most importantly, the feelings you'd both confessed to earlier.

"Dean," you whisper, your voice gravelly from sleep.

"Yeah, it's me," he replies, moving closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I… I remember," you manage, your heart pounding in your chest. "I remember everything."

Dean's eyes widen in hope and anticipation. "You do?"

Tears prick at your eyes as you nod, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions rushing back. "I'm with you, Dean," you say "I want to be with you always, on the road."

A broad smile spreads across Dean's face, his eyes sparkling with happiness as your memories flood back. "And I want you with me."

Without another word, he closes the distance between you, gently cupping your face in his hands. His lips meet yours in a tender, passionate kiss, sealing the spoken promise of being together.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of Dean's embrace, you know that you've found your way back to where you belong—by his side.

As the kiss deepens, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of a future filled with love, hunts, and the enduring bond that had survived even the quickest of dark times.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

The American Dream explored through Schneider (spoilers mainly for Chapters One and Two)

Back again with Great Gatsby parallels with Reverse 1999, this analysis is inspired by the parallels seen in Chapter Six between characters like Isolda, Kakania and Marcus to the characters in Tosca; as well as how the nature of tragic plays are explored in said chapter.

Anyways here is a exploration of Schneider through the lens of the "American Dream" because while I love oranges I kinda wanna explore Schneider as a character more outside of the romantic angle (thats still here ofc but more on her motivations and development) .

What is the American Dream?

(Im not American, just someone who/ studied the Great Gatsby)

In short this is the idea that in the "New World"/ America, anyone can do anything as long as you worked hard for it - Gatsby embodies this idealism.

This idealism is notably disillusioned by the end of the 1920s known as the Jazz Age - a period known for Hedonism, Prohibition and the belief that society had become less moral. The Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night by Scot Fitzgerald is born from this pessimism of the 1920s.

So how does this relate to Schneider?

Schneider

Putting aside her flirtatious manner and being a literal mafia boss, she is a character that was forced to grow up very fast and provide for her family at a very young age of 11. The male voice hammers home how Schneider had taken on the mantle of the breadwinner for the Greco family and how she will go to every length to help and care for them, such as turning to the Foundation and the Manus.

Now cue the oranges

The American Dream and the nature of it being a myth is expressed in the storybook scene between Vertin and Baby Schneider, specially when they share that final big orange. Im pretty sure this scene the game sets to auto as baby Schneider talks about the New World and how the "God loves the world there" intercut with Schneider suffering and pleading - just like Vertin's illusion that idealised is not real.

Baby Schneider talking about the New World with so much hope and joy being cut by the older Schneider, now jaded by the rejection of the Foundation and now the Manus reinforcing the pessimism of the 1920s that concludes with the 1929 Wall St Crash.

The American Dream is a myth, it has always been: Schneider was denied salvation on the basis that she was human, denied by the Foundation, denied by the Manus once they found out her lie and is finally taken by the Storm because she could not be on the Ark/ the suitcase would not protect her.

(I wonder when Schneider realised no matter the outcome she would be reversed alongside her family, maybe the moment she told her mother to starting moving once she realised Forget Me Not was not going to hold the end of his bargain.

I mean like everyone I would of liked a playable Schneider or even more on her as a character than the crumbs we got. But I think it is more fascinating how we Don't. Know. Schneider. At. All. Purposefully we are left wondering who she is as a person with only less than 24 hours of knowing her.

We don't even know her actual name but shes left enough of an impression to

One - Trigger Vertin's deep sated trauma of the Breakaway Incident/ giving false hope of salvation for to fail

Two - Create a fandom wide trauma for oranges and haunt the narrative that we actively call a depressing moment oranges

Less than 24 hours Schneider gave us enough to never forget her.

[stormsbourne]

alright listen

I know we're all having an evaluation of how eagerly we believe people who present with even the slightest air of authority and frankly good! we all need to be less credulous of people on the internet who tell lies.

but I think there are also other lessons to learn from james somerton. namely about his raging and blatant misogyny, which I've often seen similar forms of in fandom and on this specific site. to paraphrase bombs himself in the ctrl alt del video, if you see shitty behavior within your sphere, it's important to recognize it and try to fix it instead of rejecting it and asserting that no REAL members of the ingroup are like that. and nerds have a misogyny problem. including tumblr. so let's reckon with it.

do you append "white" or "straight" to your comments about women even when those things have little to do with the topic being discussed, just to make your comments seem more legit? (and no, m/m shipping discourse does not give you a ticket to say it's all straight women -- it's fictional characters, james.) do you often theorize about how (hurriedly appended "straight/white/cis") women are responsible for a problem in fandom, nay, all problems in fandom? have you made up a guy based on a single post that annoyed you and extrapolated to say that all (appended signifier to make it ok) women in fandom are like that? do you see women as uniquely fetishizing, uniquely stupid about politics or social issues, uniquely annoying to talk to? do you assume when there's an issue, even a real one and not the fake ones james made up, that a woman is probably at the root of it?

all of this still applies to you if you're a woman. it also applies if you're gay or a person of color or trans. being an oppressed group doesn't mean you are immune from sexism, and sexism is still rampant in everyday life for pretty much everyone.

your shipping and fandom discourse isn't immune from this. no, I'm not talking about how not enough people like yuri. I'm talking about how women who like "bad" ships like r*ylo or whatever are seen as open targets for harassment. how women who are into "bad/problematic" fandoms are seen as idiots and enablers who deserve what they get. how there's an attitude that women who like shitty bad porn must think it's good, must be too stupid to know better, and must need to be handheld and taught about good, acceptable fiction. I've already talked a lot about tumblr's complete refusal to admit that fujoshi wasn't a term coined by delicate japanese mlm to complain about evil women (and I wonder if james contributed to that idiotic concept), but the way I've seen people assert that women into m/m must be straight, must be stupid, must be lying about their identities, must be hurting gay men in real life in addition to wanting some anime boys to kiss ...

I've seen how some of you people talk about amb*r h*ard, is all I'm saying, and I've seen what you've tried to do to dozens of female creatives that, for some reason, you've decided deserve to be taken down or taught a lesson. I've seen the descriptions you use. shrieking, bitchy, whiny, uppity, shrewish, karen (don't get me started on how karen has been turned into an easy excuse for misogyny). you're not bystanders to what james did and is doing, you're a part of it. sure, you might not have the nazi fetish, but you've said things about women that put somerton to shame.

just a thing to keep in mind while the plagiarism discourse is ongoing. somerton is a shithead for many reasons but this is one that's important to remember because I think people often treat misogyny like a lesser crime, a smaller concern, and it's not. just think of what laws are passing and what views popular movements have of women and then, for one moment, consider that maybe your reflexive need to blame women or pick them apart might have been influenced by the Society In Which We Live.

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

(,,uhuh tw. brief mentions/implications of s/a.)

DO YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT ISNT TALKED ABOUT ENOUGH THAT INFURIATES ME??

Constance's arc in RTC. Literally nobody talks about it and waters her down to just being the nice mom friend™️ which completely undermines the arc she goes through of both

1. Reclaiming her innocence. Throughout the musical there's a LOT of moments that can represent that arc up until sugar cloud

2. How she wasn't happy with her life and didn't realize the good of it until her dying moments. plagued by that thought until she reaches true happiness now knowing she had a good life in sugar cloud

GGGGOD sometimes the blatant undermining of the arcs each character has (,,excluding Jane. I don't think she ever really had an arc; just. Left in despair only knowing her death and the mourning of something she can't remember, wondering if god itself had abandoned her) me so INFURRIATED LIKE RAGHAJRHRRRUJS THERE'S SO MUCH ANALYSIS POTENTIAL AND THEYRE ALL SO WELL WRITTEN TO BE RELATEABLE IN SOME SHAPE OR FORM

Connie was not all just sunshine & rainbows she was going through the mental WRINGER and struggling with her self-loathing & depression up until her death. She probably still dealt with it throughout the musical — now being plagued by even more secrets to keep & the self loathing of what happened just three hours before. (,,example is. the one scene after Ocean goes "We all died virgins" & Karnak pressures Constance a bit. God that scene makes me so ☹️)

She doesn't like. Fully reclaim her innocence & happiness until sugar cloud — which I like to personally think her letting her hair down is representation of her slowly starting to let go of it all. Just. Truly starting to feel happy, like a little kid again. Realizing she had a good life and appreciating what she had now that she's gone. What she went through doesn't define her. Therefore, she doesn't let it hold her back. Letting that inner child out for whats probably the first time in a LONG time.

And I think that's just. A really beautiful thing to her character that gets ignored a lot; which to me is one of the more relatable aspects of her character. Not realizing how much you love everything until something bad happens. From the smallest things like the feeling of getting into bed after a long day— your body finally relaxing after throbbing with pain & exhaustion all day, or even just seeing the smile on a family/friend's face after not seeing them for a while— to the more specific things such as seeing people being happy around you. Happy to be with you. All while knowing what you've gone through doesn't define who you are; letting that little kid inside of you out into the world to truly feel the warmth of the sun.

God sorry I just absolutely love Constance jawbreaker/sugar cloud had me BAWLING the first few times I heard it and I'm not prepared to sob over it again when I see RTC in february,, anyways THIS FUCKASS FANDOM NEEDS TO STOP UNDERMINING ARCS AND REALLY ANALYZE THE CHARACTERS MORE RAGGHHHHHHH